Steven Universe: Taconite
by Fordlover68
Summary: One morning he showed up in Beach City, claiming to just be an investigator of the paranormal. But it soon becomes clear he's a man on a mission...one that will bring him on a collision course with the Crystal Gems...
1. Chapter 1

**Except for original characters and material, Steven Universe is the creation of Rebecca Sugar and the property of Cartoon Network.**

Chapter One: Mornin' Donuts

It was raining and Sadie was bored. She and Lars had opened the Big Donut an hour ago, and by this time in the morning, eight o'clock, they would at least have their first customer of the day. Nine out of ten times it would be their most loyal customer, Steven, but even he had failed to show up that morning, and this was a kid who would sometimes be waiting right there in front of the store for them before they had even opened up.

Apparently the kid really loved his donuts, though Sadie suspected that was probably one of the few things he ate for breakfast. For a while now she suspected his 'family' didn't really do any cooking for him. His dad, Greg, was the exception, but he lived in his van at the car wash, and not in the beach house with the rest of them. She had learned a long time ago that Steven and his family were, for a lack of a better term, unusual, and his eating habits, from what she had seen, only proved her suspicions.

Sadie broke off from her musings about Steven to see what her coworker was doing. Lars was busy fiddling with the coffee machine, drowning out the world with music thanks to his iPod and a set of headphones, which meant he didn't want to socialize with anyone at the moment. That wasn't surprising. Truth be told she was really the only one he socialized with - except for right now.

The young woman let out a sigh as she leaned on the counter, folding her arms to rest her head on them. Through the store front she could see it was still raining outside, and this made her a bit depressed. It was starting to look like it would be a long, boring day with only Lars and the rain for company.

Suddenly a new sound broke through the clattering of the rain. It was the low rumble of an engine, most likely some kind of high-performance car, or even small truck, by the sound of it. Though she could only hear it, Sadie could tell that the vehicle in question had pulled up alongside the store, idling for a few seconds before it went silent. The sound of a car door opening and closing followed. Seconds later a figure appeared at the door and stepped into the shop.

"Morning!" they called, the voice made it clear that the newcomer was a man. "It's neither fit for man nor' beast out there."

"Good morning," Sadie replied. "Yeah, it's been coming down since about six."

"Does it always rain like that around here?" the man asked, approaching the counter. He pulled back the hood of the dark green poncho he wore, revealing a head of short, raven black hair. The rest of his outfit consisted of dark green cargo pants, and a pair of black combat boots.

Sadie shrugged. "Sometimes. Comes with living next to the ocean, I guess," she replied, and left it at that. "Welcome to the Big Donut. What can I get you?"

The man reached the counter, putting both hands on the counter as he peered past her at the glass cases filled with the various kinds of donuts they sold. "I'll take two Boston Kremes and the biggest coffee you have, please," he replied.

"Sure thing. Coffee machine is to your left."

"Thanks." The man moved towards the machine, sliding past Lars who by now was sweeping the floor and still ignoring the world at large, and was soon brewing up a large coffee for himself.

Sadie had his donuts ready for him when he returned to the counter. "Here you go; two Boston Kremes."

"Thanks." He took a bite out of the one of the donuts, then washed it down with a sip from his coffee. "Hmm, best coffee and donuts I've had anywhere."

A sense of pride rose up in Sadie. "Really?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've been to one end of this country to the other, and this is the best I've had. I can't believe I haven't run across a Big Donut before."

By now the young woman behind the counter was smiling. "Thank you. We try our best here. I really don't know where the other locations are to be honest with you, so I don't know if they bake their own donuts like we do here."

"Hmm, it shows." The man finished one donut and sipped some more coffee, then held out his hand to Sadie. "Sam Gillman."

"Sadie Miller. Nice to meet you." She took his hand and shook it. "So what brings you to Beach City?" The guy seemed friendly enough, so she figured she could try and start some small talk. She was desperate for someone to talk to and Lars was out of the question.

"Oh, you could call it a 'working vacation'," Sam replied.

"Doing what?"

"Promise not to laugh?"

"Promise."

"I'm here to investigate reports about paranormal phenomenon here in Beach City," he explained, matter of factly. "Apparently a couple of folks have claimed to see some weird things around here."

Sadie was speechless for a moment. "Really? Like what?"

"Oh, UFOs, aliens, a giant spaceship shaped like a hand, that sort of thing," he explained. A grin came across his face. "See anything like that around here?"

"Nope, nothing," Sadie replied a little too quickly. She hoped he hadn't noticed. He had, but said nothing. "Nothing much really happens in this town."

"That's a lie," Lars huffed, joining her behind the counter. "Weird stuff keeps happening here all the time!"

Sadie shot him a dirty look. "So who do you investigate for?" she asked Sam.

"Myself. I'm a private investigator. It's just me and the car," Sam explained, turning his attention to Lars. "You've seen something?"

"Are you kidding me? There's weird stuff happening everyday around here! Two days ago that giant - ow!"

"Sorry," Sadie apologized, smiling sheepishly. "My foot slipped."

She hoped she had fooled Sam once again, but, once again, she hadn't. He had figured out pretty quickly that Sadie was trying to hide something, but decided to play it cool. He shrugged and sipped more of his coffee, deciding to not ask any more questions - for now.

"Well, nine out of time times there's usually a plausible explanation for everything," he exclaimed. "Guess I'll have to find out for myself."

"Makes sense to me," Sadie agreed, obviously thinking her attempts at misdirection had succeeded.

For the next few minutes she and Sam made small talk, chatting about anything that came to mine. Sadie mostly told him about Beach City and the local area. She suddenly stopped when the bell above the door rang as someone came into the store.

"Oh, hey, Steven," she said, looking past Sam to speak to whoever it was.

Sam turned around to face this guy Steven who was now behind him - and nearly spit out his coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

**Except for original characters and material, Steven Universe is the creation of Rebecca Sugar and the property of Cartoon Network.**

Chapter Two: Confirmation

Sam figured that it was just some guy named Steven standing behind him. Okay, so it turned out that Steven was just a kid, about 13 or 14 years old by the looks of it. He looked normal enough, wearing a yellow rubber raincoat, blue jeans, and a pair of boots. A few strands of curly, black hair could be seen poking out from under the hat. The smile on his face matched the cheerful mood he seemed to be in.

Yeah, he was a normal kid alright. Which may explain why he was never seen or mentioned during the briefing. The woman standing next to him, however, was another story...

Sam recognized her immediately. He had, after all, seen plenty of pictures of her during the briefing, and she matched the physical description he had been given perfectly. For starters, she was short and chubby, like the kid, which meant nothing, but the fact that her skin was purple from head to toe did. It was just as noticeable as her hair. It was long and large like a lion's mane, and nearly as big as her own body, which gave her a bit of a comical appearance that Sam nearly grinned at, since it reminded him of another short, colorful woman he knew. At first glance it appeared to be white, but as she and the boy walked closer to the counter it was clear it was actually pale lavender. Unlike the boy, her clothing didn't seem appropriate for the weather outside; a white t-shirt, black sweat pants with a lavender star printed on each knee cap, and lavender boots. Like the boy, she was smiling as they stepped into the store. They were facing each other at the moment, and, in a one and a million chance, which should have been impossible, didn't notice Sam as they walked past him.

Sam himself stood off to the side, leaning against the counter as these newcomers walked in, taking in every detail he could. Fortunately everyone was too busy exchanging greetings to notice him.

"Hey, Sadie," the boy exclaimed cheerfully.

"Hi, Steven," the girl replied. "Hey, Amethyst."

"Yo," the purple woman greeted back, raising her hand.

Okay, the woman's name was Amethyst, Sam noted. Good to know. With Sadie's full attention on the newcomers, he quietly moved around and behind them, stepping over to the restroom. He closed the door slowly, leaving it open by a crack so he could hear what was going on outside.

"So what will it be today?" Sadie asked Steven.

"The usual, please," the boy replied.

"Okay, a dozen it is." The young woman went about putting together a box of various donuts. "You seem really excited today."

"Me and Amethyst are going to help my Dad make signs for Beach Fest."

"Neat. Isn't he on the planning committee?"

"Yeah. He's in charge of the talent contest they're going to have," the boy told her. "Me and Amethyst already have an act."

"Really? What is it?" Sadie stopped for a moment to wait for their answer.

"We're going to do yo-yo tricks," Steven told her, excitedly. "We've been practicing a lot."

"Got hit in the head a lot, too," Amethyst added. She rubbed her head to illustrate her point. "Those things hurt."

Sadie chuckled. "Well, try not to hurt yourself too much." She finished packing the box. "Here you go; a dozen donuts."

"We promise. Thanks, Sadie." Steven paid for the donuts, and left the store with Amethyst.

Sam took this as his cue. He flushed the toilet to give the illusion he had been using it before he stepped back into the store.

"Who was that?" he asked, playing dumb.

Sadie looked up from the cash register, a little surprised he had just come out of the restroom. She hadn't noticed him going in there.

"Oh, that was Steven," she replied. "Our biggest customer." She chuckled at her own remark. "He's comes in here like clockwork."

"The kid likes his donuts," Sam observed. "He's a local kid?"

"Yeah, his Dad owns the car wash here in town."

"The one with the elephant-shaped sign that says, 'It's A Wash'?" Sam had passed it earlier on his way into town, but wanted to be sure.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Thought so." Sam finished the rest of his coffee. "So who was that woman with him?"

"Oh, Amethyst? I guess you could say she's one of Steven's "aunts." She lives here in town with these other women who I guess were friends of his mom before she passed away. They've been helping Greg, his dad, raise him."

"Always good to know who your friends are," Sam remarked, noting what he had just been told. He pulled back his sleeve to glance at his watch. "Well, time to get to work. How much do I owe you?"

"About a dollar fifty. Good luck with your investigation."

"Thanks. See you around." Sam gave her the money and left the shop.

By now the rain had stopped, but it was still cloudy, which suited him just fine. The clouds he didn't mind, but he hadn't looked forward to doing anything in the rain, and so kept his poncho on just in case the weather changed while he walked back to his car. On the way there it didn't take him long to think about what just happened confirmed what he'd been told about the town. He decided then and there the first thing he would do is call Home.

Yeah, the intel was correct. The Rebels were still in Beach City.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The First Report

The first thing Sam did when he got back to the car was switch the heat on, lock both doors and roll up the windows in that order. Security and privacy were both very important in his line of work, so the last thing he wanted was someone listening in while he called Home.

Once he was sure he was cut off from the world, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small earpiece, shaped like a crescent moon and gray in color, and clipped it on his right ear. With one tap of his finger it changed colors from gray to pink, one color fading into the other.

"Communications," came a woman's disembodied voice from the piece. "Identification, please." Sam gave her his ID code, and there was a short pause before she replied, "Your cleared." Her voice, previously formal and serious, became casual and relaxed. "And with that out of the way, good morning, Sam. Are you in Beach City yet?"

"Morning, Howl. Yeah, I just rolled in twenty minutes ago," he replied, "and things are already getting interesting."

"What'cha got?" Howl prompted.

Sam told her everything that had happened at the donut shop, leaving nothing out.

"So that's the game," he said when he was finished. "If what I'm thinking is true, we have a problem."

"Frack," Howl cursed. "Sounds like it. I'll pass along the bad news. In the meantime, do you think you'll need some help?"

"Negative. I'm keeping it a solo act for now." Sam had reached over for a black attache' case sitting on the passenger seat, and clicked it open to inspect it's contents. "That's all for now. Just keep your ears open in case I need to push the 'panic button.'"

"You bet I will," Howl promised. "Watch yourself out there."

"I will. Garvuy."

"Garvuy, Sam."

Sam unclipped the piece from his ear and tapped it again, the color changing back to gray, before slipping it back into the pocket from where it came. He turned his attention back to the open case sitting on his lap, rifling through it's contents for a few seconds. Satisfied that everything that was supposed to be there was, he closed the case and set it back on the seat.

No longer worried about someone eavesdropping on him, he rolled down the driver's side window to let in some air, taking a breath of it.

"We shouldn't have waited two days," he said to no one but himself. "We shouldn't have waited."

For a moment he considered just sitting there and having a smoke, as was his usual way to relax, but decided against it.

The sooner he got to work, the sooner he could find them.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: On the Beach

Even though he had seen plenty of magnificent structures in his lifetime, Sam couldn't help but be impressed at the sight before him. From where he stood on the beach he had a great view of the Rebel's home base. Or, to be more specific, the giant, ramp-shaped hill that hid their home base.

Based on what he had been told, the Crystal Gems' base, or Temple, as they called it, was actually hidden inside the hill itself. Though it was still easy to find since the cliff face facing the sea had been carved into the statue of a giant woman with multiple-arms and faces who bore more than a passing resemble to a number of Hindu deities.

_Yeah, that's not conspicuous at all_, Sam thought, sarcastically. You'd have to be blind not to notice it.

It still amazed him how the Rebels had managed to live out in the open for decades - heck, for centuries - without arousing too much attention. Sure, the people of Beach City were probably used to them by now, but certainly somebody else - the governments of every nation on Earth, for example - would be more than a little curious about them. But the lack of response from any officials made it clear that no one around here had ever been alarmed enough to alert them to the fact that a bunch of extraterrestrials were living in spitting distance of their town. Otherwise, someone, whether they were scientists or armed troops, would have been storming the beach a long time ago.

Speaking of the house, he gave the rest of the statue a quick glance before he focused on it. It was a wooden saltbox-type beach house with a deck wrapped around it along the front and side. Altogether they didn't sit on the beach itself, but were held up by pylons erected on a ledge that stretched out from the statue's rocky base. To get up the house one had to walk up a sandy path that rose uphill before twisting left to meet a staircase leading up to the deck. Sam found just the sight of the whole structure amusing.

"Cute," he remarked to himself. "You'd think they would hide that cave behind something other than a house, though."

Indeed. Sam knew that, based on it's location, the house hid the entrance to a cave that itself most likely hide the entrance to the Temple, and that was all he knew. No one other than the Crystal Gems had ever been inside, so who knows what kind of an entrance it was. He would, he knew, have to somehow get inside and find out for himself. But first things first.

Since the rain had stopped - though for who knows how long - he had swapped his poncho for his beloved B-3 bomber jacket, which was keeping him warm on this unusually cool spring day. Its spacious pockets were also useful for storing a couple of equally useful items.

From his left pocket he withdrew a slender glass vial, like those used in a laboratory, and a tablespoon. He knelled down, unscrewed the cap off the vial, shoveled sand into it with the spoon until it was full, resealed it, and slipped it back into the pocket it came from. He stood up, withdrew a digital camera from his right pocket, and started taking pictures of his surroundings, including the beach, the statue, the house, the sea, etc. He even took one of himself, grinning, with the house and statue standing in the background behind him.

Last but not least he drew a pocket-sized notepad and a pen from his right pocket, and made a few notes. He slipped them back into his pocket, took one more glance at the Temple, and started walking back down the beach from where he came from.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed two figures standing on the porch, watching him leave. Even from a distance of a couple hundred feet he could tell they were not Amethyst and Steven...

There you are, he thought with amusement. Well, now you've seen me, and I've seen you. If your going to do something, do it.

But despite mentally daring them to do so, the two leaders of the Crystal Gems, for that is who they were, never left the porch, and just kept on watching him walk away until he was out of sight.

"Garnet?"

"Yes, Pearl?"

"Who was that?"

"...a problem."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: The Opposition

Sam had pretty much stayed alert during the walk back to his car. Even though he couldn't see anyone following him, he knew from personal experience not to take any chances with the Crystal Gems, especially those two on the porch. Though he had never tumbled with them personally, he had spoken to others who had before he left on this mission, and they had told him those two were unstoppable wrecking machines you should never face unless you knew when to call it quits and fight another day. If what they say was true, and Sam had no reason to think it wasn't, it wouldn't be much a stretch to think they could be responsible for the disappearance of the hand-ship and it's occupants.

The two he had seen on the porch, the Garnet and the Rebel Pearl-believe or not, that's what she was called in the file-were only the loyal lieutenants, the seconds in commands, of their infamous-or famous, depending on your point of view-leader, Rose Quartz. Together the three of them commanded the rebel army they called the Crystal Gems, which, at last count, was a force of about a hundred or so residing in Beach City, but that information was admittedly out of date by about thirty years or so. No one had bothered to take another count since 1985, so who knew how many of them were there now? Thanks to a policy of just leaving the Rebels alone and giving them a wide berth, as long as they didn't start anything first, no one had been allowed to find out.

It was a mystery; one of many gaps in intelligence that had made him strongly object to sending a lone ship with only a dignitary, her two escorts, a technician and a pilot aboard without at least scouting ahead, or at least sending along more protection for them. Heck, Sam had agreed to go along himself. But one of the powers to be, but not his boss, was afraid that any real show of force on their part would needlessly provoke the Rebels, and make an already tense situation worse, and so managed to convince them to send just a small delegation to meet with the Rebels peacefully to resolve the crisis that both sides were embroiled in.

The Rebels had claimed said crisis was caused by a serious misunderstanding, a mistake on their part, and were eager to meet as soon as possible to peacefully resolve it. The fact that contact was lost with the dignitary's ship just as it was about to land at the Temple seemed to say otherwise...

When he reached the car, his briefcase was still sitting on the passenger seat where he left it. He leaned in to get it when he stopped and stared at the small trinket hanging from the rear-view mirror. It wasn't very remarkable; just a small, diamond-shaped pendant, made of pewter gold and painted pink on both sides, hanging from a thin gold chain. It was a good luck charm a friend gave him years ago, and, so far, it had been lucky for him. He hoped it still would be. He took it off the mirror, holding it in front of him for a moment before, as he done many times before, brought it before his lips and kissed it before he hung it around his neck and slipped it under his undershirt. He then grabbed the case and locked the car.

By now the clouds had thinned out a bit to let the morning sun shine through, illuminating the hill that towered over the town, and, most importantly to Sam, the lighthouse standing atop it. It was the next stop in his investigation, and one that might prove fruitful - he hoped.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: The Neglected Lighthouse

The sign at the bottom read "Lighthouse Park", and Sam could easily see how the grassy backside of the hill could be a great spot for a picnic. To be honest he would rather be having a picnic than try and talk with the wing-nut who lived up in the lighthouse.

Like it or not, though, the fact was that wingnut could possibly be the best witness to whatever happened to the dignitaries and their ship. Though whether that was actually the case or not remained to be seen. If he was, it would be a big step in Sam's investigation. If he wasn't, it would be a dead end and he would be back to square one, though either way it would give him a chance to have a good look at the lighthouse. The enthusiast he had been since he was a kid was more than little excited to be visiting it for the first time.

To the average person it would, at first glance, Beach City Lighthouse appear to be your typical lighthouse, no different that the many that could be found along America's Mid-Atlantic coast. There was a white marble tower, about 70-feet tall, topped by a lantern room made of steel and painted red. Sitting at the base of the tower was a small cottage, white and red pointed roof, that was attached to the tower itself.

Before setting off on his mission, Sam had done plenty of research about the lighthouse. It was actually the second such structure to be built here, replacing an earlier wooden lighthouse from the 1790s that had been mysteriously destroyed during a fierce storm that struck the coast in 1851. Both the keeper and his assistant made a miraculous escape, suffering only a few cuts and bruises as the structure collapsed behind them. They ran all the down to hill through the driving wind and rain to town, rushing into a local tavern to alert everyone that the light had fallen. No one, however, was willing to go back up and have a look. After the storm blew itself out the next morning, the keeper and some townsfolk went up to inspection the damage, and found that light had been reduced to large pile of kindling. The conclusion drawn by the locals, which included the keepers, was that the storm had brought down the light.

Sam had chuckled at that.

Sure, storms had brought down lighthouses before. But even someone with a half a brain could tell you that not even the fiercest storm to roar off the Atlantic, or any ocean for that matter, could create the giant footprints that were allegedly found running up and down the hill that same morning. The locals, who who had a history of being tight-lipped with outsiders about the strange going-ons around their town, didn't say anything about them. A reporter from Delaware who made his way there after hearing about the incident was the one, and only one, who claimed they were there. Since no one else would come forward to back up his claim, it wasn't taken seriously, and relegated to the realm of local folklore. In short, no one believed him.

Sam, however, knew better...

Enough with the history lesson, though. Sam stepped up to the keeper's cottage and knocked on the door. There was no response. He knocked again. Still no response. After a third attempt, it was clear no one was home.

"Fine with me," he muttered to himself. "Makes my life easier."

It wouldn't be the first time he would have to break into someplace. Out of habit he tried the knob all the same in the off chance it was-Aha! It was unlocked. Seems the wingnut forgot to lock the door; a common enough occurrence that had allowed Sam to get into plenty of places over the years. Humanity's capacity for carelessness had always been a great asset to him.

He glanced around to make sure there was no one else around, there was none, then opened the door. About mid-step through the door he suddenly stopped. The paint on the front door was faded and worn, not to mention chipped in some spots. He frowned. On a hunch he went to have a look at the outside walls of the cottage. The paint there was in no better shape than it was on the door. In fact it looked even worse. On another hunch he circled around the tower to inspect it's condition.

After nearly a century and a half of being exposed to the elements, the outside of the limestone tower was, as expected, weathered and worn. But what was more alarming were the large cracks that were weaving their way through the stone itself, loosening chunks that had fallen off and were now piled up on the ground. Most of them appeared' to be small, but there were a number of larger pieces as well.

This was bad.

Given time the cracks would become bigger, loosening up even larger and larger chunks that would fall away. This in turn would weaken the structure considerably, until it lost all stability and collapsed. Regular maintenance work would have prevented things from getting this bad, but it was becoming very clear to Sam that nobody had done any real work on the lighthouse for a very long time.

He looked up towards the top of the tower at the lantern room. It was too high up to allow him to have a good view of it, but he wouldn't have been surprised if it was in as bad condition as the rest of the mere thought of that seemed to confirm the concerns he had about the light even before he saw it in person.

It was just as well that he already had a reason to step inside. He now wanted to see how bad the interior was compared to the exterior. Hopefully it wouldn't be in too bad a shape, but the chance of that was remote.

With a shake of his head he started to head back inside, when he stopped again to stare up at the window set above the door. The panes were divided so that they formed the pattern of a star with a pentagon in the center. An amused Sam chuckled lightly.

"Figures," he remarked out loud and stepped inside.

Even before he closed the door behind him Sam realized his worst fears about the lighthouse had come true. The interior of the small, one-room keeper's cottage was covered in a thick layer of dust. It even hung in the air, making him sneeze.

"Velska!" he cursed, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it away from his nose. "Anybody ever clean in here?"

The obvious answer was no one hadn't, which shouldn't have surprised him. He knew that, like with every other lighthouse in the country, maintenance of the beacon up in the lantern room was the responsibility of the Coast Guard, since it was an important aid to navigation for ships. Otherwise the rest of the structure, such as the tower, the keeper's cottage, and such, could either be privately owned, belong to some preservation group that turned it into a museum, or belong to some local municipality.

The thing about Beach City Lighthouse, however, was that as far as he knew it didn't belong to anyone; no private individuals, no preservation groups, nor even the town of Beach City, claimed ownership over it. An inquiry made with the Coast Guard revealed that the last keepers had left the in the early 1960s, when it was decided that the lighthouse was no longer needed and abandoned. Other than them, no one lived there-at least officially. The wing-nut Sam had come to see had apparently been using it as his private clubhouse, and it was obvious he wasn't doing anything to care for it. This was a serious problem. No one claiming responsibility for the light meant there was no one to care for the structure. This was obviously not good, and, from what he could see, it was only getting worse.

The interior of the cottage was bare of furniture, and pretty much anything else, so he moved on. He crossed over to the door on the other side of the room, and stepped through into the base of the tower. He could immediately see another reason why the light was so unique.

Unlike other lighthouses, Beach City's tower wasn't hollow with a spiral staircase built inside that led up to the lantern room at the top. Instead it had been built with a solid core with a stairway hollowed out out of it, making the interior look more like that of a tower of some medieval castle than a lighthouse. Despite the fact it was broad daylight outside, it was completely dark inside since there were no windows.

Fortunately for Sam he could see better in the dark than his fellow human beings. He possessed a kind of night vision more akin to certain animals that made it easier for him to see in the dark. In fact if anyone had been there to watch him head up the stairs, they would have seen the iris' of both his eyes start to slowly give off a yellowish glow like those of a cat or an owl as they adjusted to the lack of light. Those who weren't in the know of things would probably find it unnatural, while those who were would probably find it impressive. To him it was simply another benefit from years of reconstructive surgery.

It was only minutes before Sam found himself on the landing at the top of the stairs, standing in front of what he assumed to be the door to the lantern room. On the off chance that someone was here, but hadn't seen him approach or him knock earlier, Sam knocked again, giving three steady taps against the door. There was no response here too.

Sam just shrugged. "Still works for me."

He checked to see if it was locked-it wasn't-and stepped into the world of Ronaldo Fryman.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: The Find

The fact that the Lantern Room wasn't built like others of it's kind didn't surprise Sam at all. Instead he was intrigued by it's unusual design. But at the moment he was more interested in what was in the room, or, rather, the lack of someone in it.

There was no sign of Ronaldo Fryman, conspiracy theorist extraordinaire, and the lighthouse's lone squatter, who Sam had come to see. The night of the second day waiting to hear from the missing ship, Sam and friends had come across Fryman's internet blog, Keep Beach City Weird, and it's blazing announcement that footage of an extraterrestrial vessel-taken by the blog's creator-appearing over Beach City would soon be forthcoming...

Needles to say, this go everyone's attention, and a thorough search of the blog revealed that it was a repository for stories about the strange going-ons around town, whether they were monster sightings or mysterious places. Though someone in the know of things, like Sam, could easily see through Fryman's imaginative but incorrect explanations for all of them.

Still, at this point the guy and his blog were the only lead they had on what had happened to the ship, and the decision was quickly made that they wouldn't wait to hear from them any longer. A plan of action was drawn up, and Sam had made his way to Beach City the next morning. The plan was simple: meet this Fryman character, learn what he knew, and view the footage he claimed he had. But now that Sam was here to see him, however, the guy was nowhere in sight.

"Fine with me," he remarked to himself. "Makes things easier."

Even without Fryman himself present, he could still go through his stuff, gathering intelligence, and what better place to start than the laptop computer sitting on a nearby desk.

Whistling as was his habit, he stepped into the room, looking over the room as he causally wandered towards the desk.

If the room had been square instead of round, it would have been a sure bet that every corner would have been filled by the knick-knacks clustered around it. That didn't even include the posters, charts, and other papers that covered every square inch of the walls.

On a nearby shelf were various foodstuffs, non-refrigerable, in box and bag form. Sam saw the selection of cereal to be had and shook his head.

"He needs more cornflakes."

At the far end was a large cork board covered by old newspaper articles, drawings, and photographs pinned to it, lines of string held up by push pins strung in-between them like some demented spider web. The creator of this nauseating display was obviously trying to show that everything was connected to each other in a vast web of intrigue-at least in Ronaldo Fryman's mind, for that was who created it.

He reached the desk and sat down before switching on the laptop. He found, unsurprisingly, that the one and only account on it was password protected.

Not a problem.

From his jacket pocket he pulled out a small, black flash drive, and clicked it into the USB port.

"Device?"

A female voice spoke from what appeared to be a small speaker on the device. "Ready."

"Decrypt password," Sam told the device.

A pink LED light on the USB started to blink in sync as the correct password, which turned out to be "Believe", was entered without Sam even touching the keyboard!

"Password decrypted," the USB announced.

Sam couldn't help but snicker at the sight of the home screen; rows upon rows of file icons stacked in front of a Princess Panda wallpaper. Each one marked with something like "Monsters", "Ghosts",etc.

A folder in the upper right corner marked "3/12/15" caught his attention. It was a date-March 12th, 2015. Just two days ago...the same day the dignitary's ship vanished.

He didn't need anymore convincing to open it. Inside he found a single movie file with no title. For a moment he felt a bit apprehensive about what he would see, but quickly dismissed the feeling. He had come to Beach City to find the missing ship and it's passengers, and, hopefully, whatever Fryman filmed would be a vital clue to their fate. So without further ado he clicked on the file, and sat there and watched for next one minute and fifty seconds as it played.

If anyone else had been there in the room, they would have seen Sam's face go from a neutral, attentive expression to a full scowl, his eyes narrowed as he now glared at the screen. The clip finished, leaving him to sit there in silence as kept staring at screen for what seemed like forever.

"Device," he nearly growled, "copy all files from the laptop's hard drive."

"Working." It took only seconds to complete the task. "Ready."

Sam unplugged the USB and slipped it into his pocket. He shut off the laptop and started to leave the room, discarding any plans he had to search through the rest of the room.

He had to get what he found back to Home ASAP.

In his haste to leave, however, he forgot to close the door to the lantern room...


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: The Second Report-First Attempt

Once outside Sam had made a straight beeline down the hill to his car. Like before he rolled up the windows, locked the doors, and clipped on his ear piece. He tapped on it, expecting to hear...music?

Instead of Howl's voice, Sam realized he was indeed listening to music; Scott Joplin's Maple Leaf Rag, to be specific. Thinking he had accidentally picked up some radio station-it had happened before-he gave the earpiece another tap to re-sync with the comm channel. He still kept hearing the music. He gave the piece two quick taps to switch over to the secondary auxiliary channel he used in emergencies. The music was playing there, too.

That's when he knew he had a problem.

A long time ago he and Howl had come up with a plan where, if one of them discovered that someone was trying to eavesdrop on their comms, they would try to signal each other in some way. Sam would start to ramble on about absolutely nothing, while Howl would start playing random music-like right now.

"Well, that didn't take long," he muttered to no one.

It was no mystery to him about who was jamming his comms and why. He'd been expecting a response from the Rebels ever since he showed up in front of their Temple that morning, and now he had it.

Sure, his little jaunt down to the beach had been a bit of a gamble; one, it seemed, he lost. The Rebels weren't stupid. They knew some stranger showing up on the beach in front of their Temple so early in the morning, taking pictures and the like, wasn't likely to be some random tourist, or, say, some kind of scientist. They could have simply walked over and asked what he was doing.

But they probably didn't need to. For they already knew who he was, or, to be more specific, a very good idea of who he was, why he was here, and what he wanted. They had ways to see in the future and the possibilities it held. An advantage for them, to be sure, but Sam knew ways to counter it.

But that was all for the future.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: The Game

Right know he needed to face his present situation, or "the Game", as he called it. He was alone in what was potentially hostile territory, with his only secure line of communication severed, surrounded-for all intents and purposes-by an enemy who was clearly wary of his presence.

Further still, this particular enemy was one he had never personally encountered before, so what would happen when-it was not a matter of 'If'- they finally confronted him was all hypothectical at this point. Based on what knew about how the Rebels operated, they surely wouldn't just sit around and let him freely wander around now that he had them alarmed. They would confront him. He would do everything he could to avoid that, but there were no gurantees.

Giving into the temptation he had denied earlier, he decided he needed a smoke. Sure, some would consider it a filthy habit, and, to be honest, it was. But it was one of the things that helped him relax when he needed to do some thinking. Besides, thanks to one of his many reconstructive surgeries, he could smoke like a chimmney for the next 200 years and still be as right as rain.

A direct confrontation with the Rebels, or the potential for one, was something he had wanted to avoid. For starters, directly confronting them about the fate of the delagation wasn't his mission; his was to get in, investigate, then report back whatever he found, all while avoiding the Rebels, then go from there. In other words, go in quietly and discreet, without restarting a war that ended over 5,300 years ago. But now that was impossible. Not only because the Rebels were now aware of his presence, but also because what he had seen on Fryman's laptop made it clear there was a slim to none chance they would be diplomatic about it.

From the glove compartment he retrieved a black leather cigar case, and slid out a cigar, placing it between his teeth. From his pocket he drew a silver Zippo lighter. Etched on one side was the outline of a diamond with a ship's anchor sitting in the center, while on the other side were the words _To My Berasso_ etched in stylish letters. It, like the trinket hanging around his neck, was a gift. He read the inscription and smiled before he clicked it on to light the cigar, then slipped it back into his pocket. He started to puff on the cigar, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he thought over the situation and a plan of action in response to it.

So, okay, The fact the Rebels were now aware of his presence didn't really change anything about the mission, "the Game". It would just make things a little tougher, but so be it. Best way to deal with a tough situation was to keep at it until it was over, dealing with whatever was thrown at you. It was a philosophy that had served him well over the years.

He rolled down the driver's window to exhale some smoke. Based on what he had found on Fryman's laptop, he had to wonder about the current fate of the dignitary and their entourage. If, and when, he did find them, would his mission turn out to be one of rescue...or recovery...

Glancing through the rear-view mirror, he saw the town was now coming alive as more people were up and about, going about thier buisness. It was possible, Sam reasoned, that someone other than Fryman had seen what happened that night the ship appeared above their town.

There was only one way to find out, and that would be his next move in the Game.


End file.
